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11 F A T S D O M I N O I ’ V E B E E N A R O U N D b y R i c k C o l e m a n It's December 1949. Alan Freed is spinning Beethoven records on Cleveland radio. Bill Haley is yodelling hillbilly through bars along the Jersey shoreline. Elvis Presley is gazing out of the window of Humes High School in Memphis. Meanwhile, down in New Orleans something is stirring. At a crackling 78 revolutions per minute a primitive Edison-era sounding recording blasts off with an even more primitive beat. A young pianist piledrives his piano as a rhythm section pulsates behind him and horns wail above in a bombing frenzy of sonic distortion. Our pilot into this brave new musical world boldly brags his name, weight and street address in a high-pitched wail and then bugles like a harmonica. His incessantly inciting, exciting rhythms will electrify airwaves, and burst jukebox speakers. He will ignite and unite the generation to come. They call, they call me the Fat Man, 'cause I weigh 200 pounds. All those girls they love me, 'cause I know my way around. I was standin', I was standin' on the corner Of Rampart and Canal, I was watchin', watchin', Watchin' all those Creole gals… Johnny Otis, who led the country's hottest R&B band in 1950, was dumbfounded by The Fat Man . He told writer Rob Finnis, "I con- sider that a revolutionary record. We really perked up when we heard that shit, 'cause in those days – we didn't know – but there was a whole new art form brewing…. I remember we were eating in a restaurant and a jukebox man was changing the records. When he got through he punched a few but- tons to play a few and we were hearing a lot of new sides we hadn't heard. And suddenly 'The Fat Man' came on. I remember my guitar player, Pete Lewis, and I ran over to the jukebox to see what that was. We said, 'Shit,